Of Gangsters and Librarians
by troubadour12
Summary: In which troubadour12 does the unthinkable. In which you’re sucked in --- literally. In which Jonah loves Amy and Amy loves Jonah. In which insanity presides. In which there is pain. In which there is laughter. More pain. More laughter.


_**Hey. So there are some things I'd like to clarify.**_

_**This is not serious. I am not serious. In fact, I am laughing my butt off as I type.**_

_**This will be in Second-Person POV. No, it is not a Choose Your Own Adventure story. It is a one-shot in the said POV.**_

_**I don't actually support JonAmy, but I figured I should add some spice to the archives. **_

_**Don't kill me. Just flame.**_

***

**Of Gangsters and Librarians**

Summary:

_In which troubadour12 does the unthinkable. In which you're sucked in --- literally._

_In which Jonah loves Amy and Amy loves Jonah._

_In which insanity presides._

***

You open your eyes and look up at the ceiling. Not what you would really like to see, but it's not like you have a choice. You roll over in your bed and bury your face in your favorite pillow which has Winnie the Pooh all over it. You secretly love Winnie the Pooh but you don't tell it to anyone; only your family knows.

You get up off the bed and realize that something's wrong. First off, it doesn't feel like you'll wilt in the heat, which is often the case at home. There's a cool breeze wafting in through the open windows and you see that the sun is shining in a way that's not painfully bright. _What world have you entered? Where are you now?_

The room is most definitely luxurious. The walls are mint green, so unlike the princess-y pink of your bedroom, which you'd had painted that way after a brief stage of princess obsession. Your bed is four-poster, with lace curtains hanging off of the posts. You then see that your Winnie the Pooh pillow is non-existent, for the moment, at least. There is a jumbled array of embroidered silk cushions in vibrant hues and fluffy-looking feather pillows in shades of black, grey, brown and white. The bedspread is all-white for the most part.

The furnishings that fill your room are elegant, fit for a queen. The floor is marble, from what you can see of it that isn't covered by the shag carpet.

That is when you walk out of your room and go down the stairs in anxiety, surrounded by unfamiliar territory on all sides.

You step out into the garden. And, for some reason you cannot quite understand, you see Jonah. Jonah Wizard, of 39 Clues fame. Jonah Wizard, gangster and rapper extraordinaire. Jonah Wizard, whose eyes are insured by Lloyd's of London.

You've never been to London in your life.

Inexplicably, you can feel what he feels and you can hear what he is thinking. Don't get too excited though. You are not Edward Cullen, nor are you Jasper Hale. You are merely you, a pawn in this story I am writing, powerless and defenseless, haha.

Ehem.

And what is Jonah feeling? What is he thinking?

You can feel that he is lost. Insecure. A great drop in morale. Lovesick.

"Is this really Jonah we're talking about?" you scream up at the sky.

_Don't interrupt, my dear._

"But I ---"

_Don't interrupt._

You zip your lips and concentrate on Jonah. Why is he feeling this way? Why is his spirits low? Where did all that Wizard mojo go?

Amy. He is thinking of Amy. And how he has discovered, deep deep deep deep deep deep deep deep deep, _way _deep down that he loves her. Really, truly loves her. And oh, how the moon shines so solemnly, dull in contrast to her glowing shine. How the stars fall in the face of such innocent beauty. The sun cries in self-pity because it is eclipsed by Amy Cahill.

You go and barf. All over the plants that adorn the garden. Well, it _is _a garden, there _should _be plants.

You decide to come back when Jonah returns to normal, not knowing that he will not be normal ever in this story. Your run back inside and ricochet to the wall because you bump into something. And that something is Amy Cahill, who has appeared at the Wizard mansion with an agenda of her own. She falls with a bump, hitting a side table where a porcelain jar is displayed and it crashes on the floor. You dart off into an alcove and duck underneath a table where you can see her but she can't see you.

Jonah has heard the crash and comes running. He sees Amy. He grabs her hand and helps her up, asking her if she's all right.

"I'm fine," Amy says, picking herself up off the floor.

"Why are you here?" Jonah asks, deciding to overlook the fact that his mother's favorite jar is in pieces behind them. After all, he is with his one true love (you barf some more into a vase of flowers on the table above you) and that is what matters.

Amy avoids his gaze and tries not to blush because he's still holding her hand. Dread fills you and you shut your eyes. But you can hear her thoughts. You can't avoid it.

She has come here because she has realized that, all along, she didn't love Ian or Hamilton or Kurt. That Jonah has been **The One **ever since she first saw him on TV. And that she's hoping she's not too late because she believes that there are many girls who admire him and it's not long before he'll choose one of them.

(What she doesn't know, however, is that Jonah orchestrated those fan mail himself, the ones which say that they love him so much; he also bought bouquets of flowers from foreign florists with random names pulled up from the Jonah Haters Society, which were all sent to him, expressing admiration. You are actually a member of the Jonah Haters Society, and you know that everyone else is as oblivious to this practice as Amy is.)

"Amy," Jonah says, feeling shy. (Shy? S_hy?!_) "I…I…"

Amy looks up at him with tender eyes. "I…?"

"I love you," he says, and pulls her in for a kiss.

She is surprised but she kisses him back. When they separate, she says, "I love you, too."

Then they ride off into a glorious sunset, aboard a sleek white yacht, although there is not water outside and it's ten in the morning.

You don't particularly care. You tear your hair out until you are bald, your eyes burn with indignation and disgust at the whole thing, your heart screams and your mouth does, too.

You escape the hell you've just been subjected to, an unwilling witness to a love story that should have never been written.

You are Reagan Holt, the poor victim, the defiled innocent, the tainted young mind which has been ravaged by shades and shadows of JonAmy.

And you still don't know why you woke up in _Jonah's mansion _o_f all places._

***

_**Oh my. I am laughing so hard at this right now. Oh my gosh.**_

_**Eh, you can flame all you want. This is in fact part of my "How To Get Flames" experiment. If I get five flames, I will add these to the "How To Get Flames" list. **_

_**I hope your eyes didn't burn as much as Reagan's did.**_

_**Godspeed,**_

_**~troubadour12~**_


End file.
